


I Heart Radio

by KendylGirl



Series: The Alchemy of Butterflies [7]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Commitment, Established Relationship, M/M, Plans For The Future, Radio Games, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 18:40:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17792660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendylGirl/pseuds/KendylGirl
Summary: During a Valentine's Day radio show, Armie blushes, and Timmy hears the future he never knew he wanted.





	I Heart Radio

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, my lovelies!
> 
> This one's just a quickie, but the adorable clip of Armie and Felicity testing their knowledge of famous love scenes was too good to pass up.
> 
> At this point, I'm pretty sure I owe Willowbrooke a meal of her choice since I insist on dropping my bag of words right on her dinner table, but because she is a saint, she has come to my rescue once again!

He blushes so easily. 

Necessity has made him bold, but his heart is soft, intolerant to any atmospheric change around him, sensitive to every thought.It is large and has grown under the strain of filling his body with blood, long limbs and thick muscle and lofty scalp.But it can’t weather abuse, not like he thinks it can.I’ve seen it shrink before my eyes when she would come at him to empty her contempt and arrogance into his lap, and it would slam back against his spine as his cheeks withered to the color of paste.I saw it freefall to his knees when his son tottered into a busy road before he could grab the boy’s stubby arm, lungs distorting to fill the hollowed space with wet and agonized wheezing, an asthma of despair at what might have been.

The grin still plays on his lips.He loves games, loves to test himself and his wits.He wants to win just to prove he can do it, even with this silliness.Felicity’s up for it, and she’s just as competitive as he is, closing her eyes and pressing her fingertips into her temples to focus.He purses his lips and turns inward to listen.His eyes are crinkled and alight, the ebb and flow of brilliant white peeking through the seam of his lips, tiny fangs clipped to the corners.He’s having fun.

And I see the moment his eyes change, when the humor slides into something warm and liquid inside of him.My own hands clutch at the headphones I wear and seal them against my head.

_Is that..?_

He looks up at me, sitting on the other side of the glass radio booth.We figure it out at the same time, the silence as known to us as the sounds, as precious as the breaths of air that had warmed our faces in the unexpected chill of the Italian summer air.

And there it is, the blood rushing up, soft pink paving under the tufts of beard and mustache, an irresistible admission he doesn’t even know he’s making.

His heart knows when it is loved.

I’ve seen it dance, vibrating his skin as it pushes toward me when I lay on top of him.I run my fingers along his sternum to test it, hover over it as the swirls of my fingerprints are traced by the hair on his chest, then I press carefully into his warm flesh to answer it.

“It knows me,” I whisper to him.

He watches my hand, concentrates like he’s solving an equation, and the color floods to his cheeks, licks the tips of his ears.

“It _is_ you,” he whispers back.

It tries to keep up with me, surging faster when I move my fingers to his mouth and dip them inside, following the motion of his tongue as it coats them thickly. That pulls his eyes closed, but his heart stays in it.It rolls me in subtle waves from below his layers perfect flesh as my wet hand moves below his waist, strokes him the way he likes, smooth and firm and slow, so slow.He needs to feel everything, wants me to linger there while his heart races and drags his breath along with it, higher and sharper.

“Tim…my God…you… _you_ …”

I live most in those moments when his voice is coated in awe, when the words are allowed to bypass his brain and come straight out of his chest, right from the heart that knows me, that _is_ me, that knows I will keep it safe and defend its every beat until the last ounce of blood has left my body.

“Yes…me.All for _me_.Do it.Do it for me, _please_.”I press the words into the skin of his chest so they can sink down, directly to the heart inside, my heart, and I feel his blood rise, feel the surge of heat against my cheek before I feel it on my hand, before he chokes and groans, folding down to the top of my head before flopping backward, helpless and boneless, onto our pillow.

I want to devour him, every gasp, every twitch, every sticky drop of him.

I want everything.

His smile grows as we stare at one another for several long seconds across the studio, my mouth pulling up on one side to match.I hold my hand up to the glass and press it flat. _Feel me_ , I beg silently. _That’s us_. _We do this together_.

“Better now?”the voice in our heads murmurs.

His smile crests.“Oh, fuck,” he mutters into the microphone, and the room explodes in laughter.I can’t help joining them.My chuckles vibrate against the barriers of the small room I occupy, melding with his when they strike the glass at the same time.I watch the window shudder with the force of the sound waves.

_It knows me_.

“Let’s just spend a moment to appreciate Armie and Timothée Chalamet,” the DJ croons.

My hand curls, nails trying to dig through the glass.

_Armie and Timothée Chalamet_.

I like how that sounds.No, fuck that—I _love_ how that sounds.How have I not heard it before?How have I not heard those very syllables, whispering to me in the dark when I shut my eyes and hold my breath just so I can keep his scent inside me for as long as possible?How could I have said his name in a thousand conversations and not added my own to the end of it?I want to.God, do I want to label him, to brand him as mine, to own his name as he owns my heart, as I own his.

_It_ is _you_.

For a moment, I see it all as our eyes remain fixed on one another, like we are looking across a ballroom filled with tables of our friends and family, flowers and music overflowing and a ridiculous tower of cake in the corner.And he is gorgeous and nervous, and sweat gathers at his temples, but his tux’s tie is knotted to perfection and when I squeeze his hands tighter, he blushes easily.

And now he has taken my name.

I swallow hard, and he sees me.He’s watching everything, all of it, reading my thoughts as they play across my face.He smiles and nods and leans toward the microphone, eyes still intent on mine.“Yeah,” he answers quietly, gives a quick nod.

I kiss the sky and feel myself fall back towards my chair.

“Can we hear it again?” 

Do I really think we can handle that?

_I do_.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you didn't see it, here's the clip: [Radio Clip](https://twitter.com/thisisheart/status/1095962901846872064?s=21)
> 
> Is this one all right? I still get extra nervous when I try Tim's voice, so I hope I've done him justice!


End file.
